


Gettin' Her Girl Back

by UrbanNerdGirl314



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, It was Root's plan for TM to reboot, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Finale, Root is NOT Dead, Samaritan Sucks!, Shaw and TM team up, Team Machine 2.0
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-07-19 07:30:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7351756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UrbanNerdGirl314/pseuds/UrbanNerdGirl314
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a beat, a familiar voice crackled through. “Hey, sweetie, you busy?” It was Root’s voice, only slightly different, it didn’t take Shaw long to figure out the true source: The Machine. “If you’re not doing anything, I have a new number for you. And I have a feeling you’re gonna like it. Come to the subway station?”<br/>Or<br/>What if Root didn't die, but instead was taken by Samaritan? Now that Samaritan's dead, Shaw and TM set out to get her back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I was thinking, and maybe The Machine couldn't save Root, but Samaritan was in the woodwork of EVERYTHING. It could arrange for her to have the best possible care, and doctors. So maybe Samaritan decided to take Root, like it wanted to with Finch and did with Shaw, and it faked her death. She is so inter involved with TM, so she would be a useful prisoner at best, I mean they all seem so interested in her implant's connection, and the sway she has over The Machine's behavior, so it's reasonable to assume Samaritan wouldn't want her dead, either, and it could do more to prevent it, but make it look like she died, so that if anyone else in Team Machine lived, they wouldn’t come looking. I mean, one of Samaritan's dialogue boxes mention's that they're using Cochlear Information, so is it really that far fetched? We all know how things ended for Samaritan, TM, and Shaw. So that's how this fic was born. Well, that and the idea at the final call we see Shaw receive is The Machine giving her Root's number, now that The Machine is the reigning AI.  
> So enjoy!

After leaving Fusco at the restaurant, Sameen Shaw wandered the streets with Bear, trying to decide what to do after it all. She was honestly kind of impressed that she had made it. But without Finch, or John or the Machine, without Root, she didn’t have a plan. She had already killed Root’s killer. That had been the only thing on her mind lately: if she lived, she was going to kill him. After Samaritan and The Machine went down, and she’d known they won, she made a plan, and hunted down. But then what?

She’d never really had a plan anyway, she thought, like they all had, that this AI apocalypse was going to be the end for her. But she’d lived, and she had dragged Fusco with her too. At least, he had a life to go back to, after all he had only just learned the true extent of what they did, just in time to watch it all explode. She felt kind of bad that now he had to go back to the force as just another cop again, and this time without John. But he still had some where to go.

The streets of New York where crowded with people who had no idea that they had just been saved, that a war they knew nothing about had just ended at the flip of a switch. Shaw didn’t know what had become of Finch, if he was dead, or alive under a new alias, but she was grateful that his virus had worked, even if it had killed her last connection to Root, Samaritan was dead. She hadn’t been back to the subway or any of the safe houses, she wasn’t sure what they would do for her. And she sort of liked the relative calm, knowing that Samaritan was dead did wonders for one’s blood pressure. And she was pretty sure now, that everything that had happened was real, no more simulations. Shaw didn’t know how long- or where to- she had been walking, but from the noise of the crowd, she heard a very familiar sound.

By the street, a pay phone was ringing. Shaw was tempted to ignore it, but curiosity more than anything drew her and Bear towards the phone. After looking around, and spotting a surveillance camera mounted on a nearby pole, Shaw picked up the phone, because if her suspicions were anywhere near correct- as unlikely as that seemed- it was meant for her.

After a beat, a familiar voice crackled through. “Hey, sweetie, you busy?” It was Root’s voice, only slightly different, it didn’t take Shaw long to figure out the true source: The Machine.

Shaw felt a faint smile pull at her mouth as she looked up and made full eye contact with the camera. Somehow, The Machine and her new persona had figured out how to survive too. She wondered whose plan that had been, if it were planned at all, but she suspected it had been one of Root’s final gesture for the creature she loved. And Root had said she had made some changes to the code before Finch locked them out. “If you’re not doing anything, I have a new number for you. And I have a feeling you’re gonna like it. Come to the subway station?”

Shaw suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at just how Root-like The Machine had become. It was just like talking to Root herself. She had taken on the same irritating quality of being somewhere in between enthralling and annoying with every word. Shaw hung the phone up and turned to the camera again, giving a slight nod before heading off in the direction of the subway.

***

When she reached their secret entrance, she found that the vending machine had been smashed. Although weeks since they had been infiltrated by Samaritan agents, glass from the window still littered the ground, the rack lay off to the side, trampled. You certainly didn’t need Finch’s lame code to get in now. Treading carefully, Shaw made her was down the stairs which were now broken in places. Bear whined at her side, and strained on his leash, upon seeing his home wrecked. Shaw reached out and flicked on the lights as soon as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

 Stepping onto the main platform was disorientating, pieces of ruble lay everywhere. Next time, she saw Fusco, Shaw would have to commend him on his success in blowing the tunnel back open. Bigger pieces were scattered and it looked like, after their escape, Samaritan had ransacked the place looking for something. Nothing had been left behind for them to find, save a few disconnected monitors. The Machine’s core had disappeared with the train, taking all Her information with Her. Even if She had believed She was dying, The Machine, like Her creator, had left nothing to chance.

Somehow, the subway car had made its way back, and was once again parked in its rightful place, that lights from the hundreds of play stations blinking inside. So She was alive then. The lights from each monitor’s camera was a steady red dot, that told Shaw that She was watching. The fact that everything was back up and running was somewhat miraculous, even for Shaw. Up until recently, The Machine hadn’t really seemed so life-like, but maybe they both had changed. The pay phone on the back wall began to ring as well. Shaw unhooked Bear, who paced around, trying to find his bed, which had been ransacked too, and clearly unhappy about the state of the subway.

Shaw made her way to the phone, looking over Finch’s desk as she passed it. The drawers were taken out and overturned, left on the floor. Folders and papers littered the area, pictures of all their previous numbers were apparently not what Samaritan had wanted to find. The desk itself looked broken but the two monitors atop it were on and, aside from a few dead pixels in the corner of one, seemed to be working fine. Code scrawled across the screens, as The Machine rebuilt herself.

The phone was covered in dust itself, but seemed to be working fine, the whole subway was in serious need of repair. Shaw picked up the phone and was greeted by the same voice. “Hello, Sameen. I knew you’d come.” It was honestly a little creepy to hear Root’s voice that way, it was almost perfect, but Shaw could tell the difference.

“Of course you did, you could’ve tracked me coming back with the traffic cameras.” Shaw scoffed, looking around the station again.

“So little faith in my abilities to predict people, huh, Shaw? I knew you’d come because as much as you pretend not to enjoy this, you do. I bet you were going stir-crazy, without anything to do.” The Machine almost seemed amused, but Shaw was not.

“Yeah, whatever.” She rolled her eyes, kicking a piece of brick with her boot. This place should probably be condemned, but she wasn’t going to say so. “So what is it about a new number? Who is it?”

“Still as mission oriented as always I see,” If The Machine could’ve sighed, Shaw was certain it would’ve. “I think you’ll enjoy this number quite a lot. But first can we make this a little more portable?” Apparently it was not only Root’s voice that The Machine had taken on, but some of her more charming personality traits as well. It was going to be a long day, Shaw already knew it.

“Fine, got an ear piece hidden somewhere in all this trash, cause I’m not getting an implant?”

“Of course, there are some ear pieces and unregistered phones in the car. Bottom drawer on the left.”

Shaw set the phone on the table beneath it, and strode over to the car. Bear had taken up residence on the bench inside and perked up as she came in. “Turns out we’re never getting rid of her, buddy.” She did miss Root, a lot actually. But she didn’t do sadness, she did revenge and carried on how the person wanted her to live. It had worked after her dad’s passing, and it would work now. She petted his head a few times before ducking into the drawer and pulling out the required materials. She pushed the ear piece into her ear and flipped it on.

“Can you hear me?” She said, slouching into what was once Finch’s chair.

“That’s supposed to be my line,” The Machine responded in her ear.

“The number, now.”

“The information is already for you, but I’m afraid you’re at the wrong computer.”

Shaw let out a huff as she pushed herself from the chair and stood, realizing there were about 25 computers in the subway. “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific.”

“The one by the printer.” Shaw started that way, when The Machine’s words stopped her. “There is one favour I must ask first. My new coding allows me to function without an administrator, but I find myself in need of an interface. Would you like to do that, Sameen?”

Shaw paused for a moment, she remembered the day The Machine had chosen Root to be her interface, she had been actively trying to kill her that day. She’d seen Root do the job, and how close she had gotten with The Machine. “Why me?” she asked, tentatively.

“Why not? You are qualified enough, and anyone else I’d trust is unavailable. I need someone to assist me with the numbers I am getting now. And I’d like you to do it.”

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Thank you, Sameen.” And that was the last She said of it. “The number’s information is printing now. I think you should get to her as soon as you can.”

The first pages to come out were not informative, a work history and a list of names-aliases from the looks a few Shaw thought she knew- then the woman’s statistics which Shaw did know. Their new number was a brunette woman, 5’ 10” with brown eyes. “Is it…?” Shaw started but was cut off by the printed sending out one last sheet. On the top read out a name and social security number that Shaw definitely knew. Groves, Samantha. 003-78-9141. And a picture of Root’s smiling face.

“I thought she was dead.” Shaw whispered, staring open-mouthed at the picture in her hand. Root wasn’t dead. “Where is she?”

“I thought she was dead too, Sameen. But she isn’t. I found her shortly before I crashed, but I didn’t remember until now. She’s a Samaritan facility upstate, I can send the address to your phone. She’s not dead.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Machine was able to glean some of Samaritan's information before they died. But what did she learn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, soo sorry it took so long to update! But I'm writing chap. 3 now, so more to come!

“But Fusco saw her corpse. He saw her dead.” Shaw muttered, still trying to comprehend what she had just been told. She fiddled with the paper work still in her hand, she had known without seeing it all that the new number was Root's. Root was alive, and had been the whole time. And Shaw knew very well that The Machine rarely made mistakes. “You're sure it's her, right?"

"Samantha Groves rarely went by her own identity. But the number I was alerted to was her's, so I investigated before I contacted you. It is Root, as Samantha Groves. Root herself, not any of her alters, is in danger."

"How did you find her?” Shaw asked drawing her eyes from the picture in her hand to look at the camera on the computer in front of her. "Where is she?"

“I was able to glean some of Samaritan’s data before we died, while they were weakened. I was so disoriented then, but I must’ve realized the relevance of that information. Somehow, I was able to recognize this data as current and had the coordinates to be reproduced in this new code. When I awoke again, I had access to all the cameras in the world once again, and after a while all my information returned as well. I was able to locate the last place I saw all of you. That’s how I was able to find you again, and learn the fates of the rest.” She paused for a moment. Shaw was amazed by the emotion coming through. The Machine really did care for them all. She knew and understood that The Machine regretted John's death.

“I chose to search for Root last, I watched her die in that car with no one but the EMT’s around after they disconnected her sound processor to use the AED. But the coordinate for her were not the street where she died, or the cemetery plot where she was buried. It was an old asylum in Westchester, one of the place she and John looked for you. The camera I accessed was in her room, where she was unconscious, but alive. Somehow they were able to make us all belief she was dead. Samaritan expected to win this war. And I imagine that they wanted Root to help them to do it. She wouldn't."

“And now? Where is Root now?” Shaw stood again and began pacing, throwing the papers to the desk.

“Still there.” The Machine replied. “After Samaritan died, their operatives knew that it was us. They are now trying to get Root to rebuild the Samaritan code for them.”

“Those idiots really never give up, do they?" Shaw shook her head. "She wouldn’t then, why would she do it now?”

“No, she wouldn’t, but you know their techniques. They will try anything to attain her skill. I suggest you get to her as soon as you can. Samaritan agents are blind on the technology front, but they recruited for all skill sets.”

“I remember. Got a car for me?” Shaw asked, pulling her coat- Root’s leather Jacket- back on and folding the papers and her phone into one pocket. She reattached Bear’s leash, and went to turn the lights back off.

“Outside to the left, keys are hidden in the front right wheel well. The driver won’t even notice it’s gone.”

“We’re coming, Root.” Shaw said in a hushed voice as she rushed back through the debris and found the car, and keys exactly where promised. “We’re coming.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just started college, and despite that this was written 2 weeks ago, I'm posting it now! Sorry for the delay, I'm trying not to be one of those authors who only updates every couple of months, but life's tough man... And now I have a new school and community to get used to, so please bear with me! I am actually sorry, I'll try harder!  
> Also sorry for the sad, but not really!
> 
> Thank you guys for all the kudos, you are all so sweet!

As soon as she felt the bullet pierce her skin, Root knew it was not going to okay. Harold looked startled next to her. The bullet was meant for him and he’d already lost one friend today. “We need to get you to the hospital.” He squeaked. She knew already that the bullet was a ‘through-and-through’ to the left side of her chest. It felt warm, and surprisingly painless. She knew that was a bad sign, but Harold was the important one here, so she kept driving.

            “That’s the first place Samaritan will look for you. We just need to get back to the subway, you can patch me up there. You’ve had enough practice with John.” Root answered continuing to drive although it was getting harder to breathe. Harold looked as if his eyes were ready to pop out of his head, and for a man who had literally just dodged a bullet he seemed very on edge.

            “You need proper medical attention in the next 15 minutes before you exsanguinate. The bullet has likely nicked you inferior Vena Cava. The blood loss is slow but damaging.” The Machine said in Root’s ear, as she lolled forwards towards the steering wheel. It may have punctured her lung as well. It was hard breath. Red and Blue flashing light appeared in front of them. Root was almost relieved, until she realized they would take Harold.

            “Root, you have to stop. You could die.” Harold reached out and took the gun from Root’s hand and trying to take the wheel. His words were echoed in her head, and she couldn’t really tell if it was The Machine reporting similar news, or if she was losing consciousness.

“I’m fine, Harry, but we need to get you to…” Her voice trailed off, as she fell forwards again, pressing her foot to the break. She eyes fell shut as four officers rushed towards the car guns drawn.

“Help her! She needs help, she’s bleeding.” She heard Harold’s voice call to the officers as her eye struggled to focus on anything.

“I think your estimate was a little generous,” Root whispered to The Machine, coming to rest her forehead against the steering wheel. Through slitted eyes, she watched to officers pull Harold from his side of the car, while he yelled that they should be taking care of her. “I’m sorry, Harry, I don’t think I can do it.” She murmured. “Promise me you’ll protect him.”

“You shouldn’t try to speak, if there’s a lung injury.” The Machine started, but Root cut Her off.

“Promise me!”

“I will protect him with my life, as you did.”

“Good.” Root breathed. Two officers appeared at her side of the car, and pulled the door open. They leaned her seat back to examine the wound on her chest. Her eyelids felt heavy, and she was sure she was suffocating. And as much as she tried to focus on her breathing and the soft voice in her ear, she couldn’t stop her vision from becoming dark.

“Root! No, Root!” Harold called to his unconscious and likely soon to be dead friend as the officer dragged him away. His last sight of her was the EMT pulling her slumped body from the steering wheel, and she didn’t respond.

 

***

When Root woke up next, it was very clear that she wasn’t in a regular hospital. The sheets covering her were rough and the air smelled strongly of bleach. There was a constant sound of moving air, but only out of one ear. When she raised her hair to feel for the implant, her wrist was restrained by soft cuffs. Like the ones used in…

“Asylums,” She breathed heavily, immediately regretting it as the sharp stab of pain in her chest pulled her the rest of the way into consciousness. Opening her eyes, she was met with dingy gray walls and dim, flickering lights. Looking around, she felt eyes on her. At the end of the bed sat an old man she had met many times before. “You people still use this place?” She asked Greer, her voice sounding weak.

He smiled his wrinkly face at her. “When we want a short travel time, we do, and you, my dear, were in critical condition.” He motioned to her chest, where under her gown, a thick layer of bandages was visible.

“What do you care? You’re the ones that shot me.” Root spit back, her hands pulling at the bonds- these were a lot more fun when Sameen was the one in charge. Her voice was starting to normalize, but her struggling sent a bolt of pain that took her breath away. Looking at her hands, she noticed that she had no I.V. and that greatly explained the pain.

“True, however you were not out target. I’m afraid, it was Harold who was our target. You simply got in the way. And if the rest of your misfit team believe you are dead, no one will come looking. And I have personally seen to it that they believe that.”

“Our Machine will tell them.” She growled, trying to sit up, but restrained by the pain alone. She had to admit it was a good torture technique, letting the person be brought down by their own pain.

Greer smiled again, and let out a small laugh. “Do you think us ignorant, my dear? Your sound processor was removed on sight, and the implant, well, let’s say, it no longer any use to either or you.” He held up a plastic biohazard bag containing the sound processer and the wires that should’ve been inside her skull, and Root felt her heart sink. “You have yet to become truly our enemy. And like dear Sameen, I would like to give you the opportunity to become an ally.”

“Leave her out of this, you bastard!” Root struggled again, determined not to let the pain stop her. She knew what they did to Sameen, how their love had become a weapon, and she wouldn’t let them use Sameen against her. Greer signed at her outburst, and motioned through the window on the door. A young woman in scrubs came in with a syringe.

“Miss Groves is not responding well at the moment. I’m afraid she’ll injure herself. I think a while longer under sedation might improve her mood.” Greer said. The nurse nodded, and circled Root’s bed, needle held at the ready. Root thrashed against her cuffs again, assuming the drug would go in her arms. She was taken off guard by the needle suddenly in her neck. And for the second time in twenty four hours, Root passed out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long hiatus, but college, man... Anyways I'm trying...  
> Prepare for some feels in this chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Shaw was certain she’d broken quite a few traffic laws on her drive to Westchester, but with The Machine’s help she got busted for none. Both were on a mission, and had no time to deal with petty traffic cops. The Machine had told her Root was in danger, and she was strangely upset by the news, and the sensation that had burrowed in her chest was new to her. She felt angry, which wasn’t new, but the dread and desperation she felt was all together foreign. All of her life she had been confidant in her own abilities, she had saved countless people countless times. And the news that Root was alive should alone make her feel good. But there was something about charging back into a Samaritan facility, with no human backup, that put a knot in her stomach, and she wanted nothing more than to shake the feeling. But it didn’t help that Bear sat fidgeting in the passenger’s seat next to her, obviously aware of the mood that enveloped the car. His life had fallen apart in the last few weeks as well, everyone he knew was either dead or just gone in general. Shaw felt bad for him, maybe she could arrange some meeting with Fusco, just to ease the dog’s suffering.

“How about some music, boy?” She reached out and scratched between Bear’s ears, before turning on the radio.

“Actually, Sameen.” Came The Machine’s voice in her ear. “I was wondering if we could talk.”

“’Bout what?” Shaw asked, giving Bear a side-long look, then switched the radio back off. Bear simply stared at her, his head tilted questioningly to one side. Then, she remembered that he could hear The Machine. Only she could, and it was giving her a new-found respect for Root’s ability to concentrate with a voice that no one else could hear in her ear all the time.

“I wanted to apologize to you. Because I didn’t save you.” She sounded sad and a little bit sheepish.

Shaw made a face. “I didn’t need you to save me, obviously. If I did, we wouldn’t be sitting here having this conversation.”

“I suppose that’s true. But I want you to know that it wasn’t that I didn’t look for you. Because I did, and I couldn’t find you. I looked everywhere, trying to catch a small glimpse of you on a street camera, or anything. But I couldn’t find you.

“When Harold asked if I knew anything I had to tell him the truth, that I, as much as any of them, didn’t know if you were alive or dead. He was driven by logic that said you were dead, we had seen you shot. So he stopped looking. It killed him, because he believed he was the one to blame, and he didn’t want to find you dead, so he just stopped.” The Machine sounded genuinely moved to tears, physically upset over what She was telling Shaw, despite that She had no physicality.

Shaw remained silent, knowing there was more to follow. Her finger’s tightened on the steering wheel and she forced her eyes to stay on the highway in the dying light. It was bad enough that she had to hear how her friends gave up on her, not that she blamed them, but to hear it all in Root’s voice was nearly devastating. Through the simulations, she had heard Root’s tear strained voice thousands of times. But The Machine had mastered it in a way Samaritan hadn’t, and the sound eerily mirrored the final scream Shaw had heard before the elevator closed.

“John and Root continued to look for you after that, and I gave them the help I could, but it wasn’t enough and every lead was another dead end. Harold implored them to return, but they wouldn’t believe you could be dead. But soon John could no longer fight that it was likely you had died. It hurt him more to look than to admit we’d never get you back. Still, he helped on every solid lead I got, until returned to helping the numbers.” The Machine stopped for a minute, and a recording started to play.

“Mr. Reese, I know it’s hard to deal with her death, but there are living people who need our help.” It was Finch’s voice. Shaw didn’t exactly know what she had expected from this clip, but it caught her off guard how upset Finch sounded. He rarely gave into emotion.

“Root needs our help, and if she’s right, so does Shaw.” Reese said, as usual the most emotion his voice betrayed was subtle anger.

“And if Ms. Groves is wrong, then what? You and she spend the rest of your lives chasing a ghost. There are people here who need us, John.”

“I know,” Reese sighed. “It was my fault, Finch. I should’ve been the one to go press that button.”

“Ms. Shaw was nothing if not intelligent and brave, she made that decision on her own. She saved us, and however hard it is for us to deal with the consequences, she knew what she was doing, and she was willing to risk it for us, for this work. So we could continue to help people.”

When the ambient background noise in her ear stopped, Shaw knew the recording was over. The Machine stayed silent for a little while, as Shaw directed the car over to the side of the road, and parked in one of those scenic outlets. She swallowed back the lump of unwanted emotion in her throat. “Why’d you want to tell me all that?” She managed after a minute.

“They weren’t able to tell you themselves, but I remember everything they said to me. Everything that they didn’t know they said to me. I wanted you to know they cared about this. I guess,” She paused, sounding almost apprehensive. “I wanted to persuade you to continue to do this work, with me.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ ME!  
> *Disclaimer: There are some graphic description in this chapter! Not for the Weak of Stomach!*  
> Due to the death of a wonderful lady today, I have decide to skip the chapter I had planned to publish in this one's place. This one reunites our family and I felt that I needed that. So I hope you enjoy!

 It didn’t take Shaw as long as she had thought to reach the asylum. Pushing the car into park, Shaw took a minute to reload the handgun in her pocket. Thoughts and images flashed through her head as soon as she looked up at the large building, shrouded by the growing dark, and too tall flickering street lamps. Shaw felt her hand move automatically to the spot behind her left ear. The skin was smooth, unscarred, uncut.

“No scar, no simulation. No cut, no simulation.” She told herself, running her fingers along that spot. “This is real. Huh, Bear? This is real.” She turned her attention to the dog, as she forced her hands down to the door handle. She pushed the door open, and stepped out into the night. Bear skidded across the center console and out her door. “Let’s get our girl back.” She said, tucking the gun into the waist band of her jeans, and shoving extra ammunition into her pockets. Bear barked happily at the idea.

The Machine’s voice crackled in Shaw’s ear. “She’s on the top floor. There’s limited guards now, so it’ll take them a while to find you if you’re quiet. I’d suggest staying low, they no longer have any real security, you can walk right in through the front door. But avoid the elevators.”

“Can do. Just keep feeding me info, alright?”

“Of course.” Hearing Root’s voice in her ear, even if it wasn’t Root herself, was somewhat comforting, but being anywhere near this building sent a tingle down her spine that was uncharacteristic for Shaw. She wanted, maybe even needed at this point, to get Root back alive and safe, so she tried to focus on that thought alone.

Shaw walked forwards, sensing that even Bear was on higher alert than normal, as he stuck close to her heels. Walking right across the lawn drew surprisingly little attention, but the gun in her hand stayed firmly glued there, her finger hovering closely over the trigger.

***

“Root?” She asked, swinging gun first through the first of the locked doors. The keys she had stolen from the guard she’s shot in the stairwell. It was empty. Bear came bounding up to her from down the hall and circled Shaw’s legs.

“You find her, Buddy?” Following him down the hall, she stopped to unlock the door that he began to pace in front of.

“Root?” She asked again, apprehensive at the anxiety that radiated from the dog. She eased the door open, and entered, leading with the gun. As soon as the door was open enough to see her, Bear bounded in, letting out a high whine. Root was unconscious. She was strapped down to another the hospital bed in the center of the room. She was bloody and it became obvious to Shaw almost immediately, that most of the injuries were relatively fresh. Shaw rushed over to her side right away. She quickly checked for a pulse and watched her chest rise and fall with breath. “She’s alive.” Shaw’s words came as a combination of complete relief, mild surprise and a touch of pride. “I got her.”

“Great,” The Machine said in Shaw’s ear, the relief in her voice alarmingly lifelike.

Root’s face was a patch work of bruised, swollen skin intermingled with spaces of flesh that seemed paler than Root’s normal tone, her skin damp with sweat. She made quick work of the straps that held Root, checking her skin as she went and watching the woman begin to stir. Relief swept through Shaw as she watched Root’s eyes crack open. “Shaw?” Her voice was hoarse and faltering but Shaw understood. She nodded shortly, a smile- a genuine smile- broke out from beneath her mask of what Root was able to recognize as worry.

“Yeah, it’s really me.” Shaw said, brushing the clinging hair from Root’s face. And as gently as she could, Shaw ran her fingers across the other woman’s face. It was a gesture that was uncharacteristically sweet, something Shaw had realized she did much more while in the simulations.

Root broke into a smile. “Will you marry me?” She asked, her voice still weak.

Shaw’s brow furrowed. “What?” She turned to the rest of Root’s body, as she noticed a thickness around Root’s midsection under the blankets. Pulling the sheets back, she watched Root take a few breaths before examining the bulk of bandages.

Root’s hand wrapped surprisingly tightly around Shaw’s forearm as she tried to sit up. “I said, marry me?”

Shaw quirked an eyebrow, before tugging the gown out of the way to look closer at the bandages and finding that some red has seeped through, the edges colored copper showing that it had set like that for a while. “I think you have a head injury.”

Root gave a laugh and then winced. “That’s beside the point, Sameen.” She murmured, resting her head back against the bed again.

Shaw rolled her eyes and gave a small shake of her head. Confident that she had taken out all the agents in the building, at least long enough to change the dirty bandages, she turned to Root. “D’you know where they keep the medical supplies?”

“A cart in the hall, I think.” She said, tiredly, her eyelids lolling shut again.

Shaw bumped her knuckle against the pale part of Root’s chin. “Hey! No sleep just yet, I’m going to change these, and then we’re going to get out of here. Okay?”

Root opened her eyes again and nodded. Shaw turned back into the hallway, her eyes catching Bear’s as he remained seated by the side of Root’s bed. A small smile came to her lips. As Root had said there was a cart a little ways down the hall, stocked with an assortment of drugs and supplies. Shaw picked through them quickly, pulling out a pair of medical scissors and gloves along with a few sterile rolls of gauze and tape.

When she returned to the room, Root was leaned over the side of the bed talking tiredly to Bear, who bounced in place with his tail wagging furiously. Where once he had radiated worry, Shaw felt herself lighten at the excitement coming from the dog. “He’s missed you.” She said.

Root looked up to her seeming more alert but still weak, “It hasn’t been that long since he saw me last.” She said, reaching to scratch behind his ears.

Shaw sighed. “A mouth is long enough, and we thought you were dead.” She moved in closer, setting the materials on the bed and pulling the gloves on. Root settled back in the bed, her arms reaching stiffly to pull the gown off. “I got it.” Shaw pulled the bottom of the gown up to Root's chest, fully exposing the bandages around her middle.

“From what Greer told me before he died, that was the idea,” Root said pessimistically. “It’s been a month already? I must’ve lost count.”

“It’s easy enough to do in a place like this. It's been 6 weeks since we lost you, 3 since Samaritan went down.” Shaw glanced around the barren room, to the screen mounted on the walk no longer scrolling the words that they had tried to drill into her brain over the nine months of her own capture. Judging from Root’s face, however, they had used different methods with her. “It took The Machine a little time to find you after Her reboot.”

A smile brightened Root’s face. “She survived?” Shaw could see the tears coming to Root’s eyes.

“Yep. She went down with Samaritan, but miraculously began a full system reboot a couple days later. I gather you had a part in that.” Shaw she began cutting away the soiled bandages with a glance at Root’s face. “Then She called me.”

They locked eyes for a moment and Root brushed away the tears that started to fall in relief, “She’s okay?”

“Yeah, She is,” Shaw went back to tending the bandage, cutting all the way through and peeling it away from the wound. She looked up when she heard Root gasp. Root’s face furrowed in pain, as Shaw prodded at the stuck gauze. She busied herself with freeing the stuck bandages. Root’s entire abdomen looked ghastly, the month and a half old gunshot was still open and weeping, and sutures that had once held it close now clung in disrupted clots. The area around it deeply bruised. Shaw tensed her jaw and looked up to make eye contact with the camera in the corner, trusting that The Machine would be watching. This would take more time than she’d expected.

With a sigh, she straightened to look Root in the face. The discoloration would hide any fever spots and the beating would cause its own symptoms to mask that of an infection. “How much pain are you in?”

“I haven’t really been able to feel it all day, since most of this.” Root said, the pain on her face replaced apprehension as she gestured to the bruises. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

“It’s not good,” Shaw said, turning back towards the door. “I’ll be right back.” She detoured to the stair well to steal the emergency kit bag to fill with the medications that she planned to steal. When she returned to the cart, The Machine gave her the code to access the medicine cabinet. Gathering all of the useful vials of drugs and a collection of syringes into the bag, she returned to the room. She'd need to bring some with her, unsure of where she'd be taking Root, once she got her out of the building.

Shaw set the bag on the floor and pulled out a syringe and vial of high dose antibiotics, before returning to Root’s side. Root gave her a confused look as Shaw drew the liquid into the syringe. “High dose antibiotics. That’s looks horrible, honestly, and there’s no telling if you already have an infection, so we’re gonna do this just to be safe.” She said bluntly, tossing the glass vial aside.

Root gave a nod, and stretched out her arm to expose the veins in her elbow. She sat still, watching as Shaw stuck the needle in to her arm and pushed the plunger. She tossed it aside too. “Alright, I’m going to wrap this back up and we’re going home.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting out of the asylum proves to be a bit more difficult than getting in... Warning for Cannon-Typical Violence and Shaw's Bad ass gun skills.

After thoroughly cleaning and bandaging the hole in Root’s gut again, Shaw threw the supplies back into the bag and slung it over her shoulders. “We’ll do stitches when we get to a safe house, I need more supplies than this.” Shaw said. Root nodded in response, her head swaying a bit with a nodded. So far, he health didn’t look all that good, but Shaw’s mind was more focused on getting the out of this forsaken place. She guided Root’s hand to the back of her shirt and gestured for the taller woman to slide to the edge of the mattress. Root pursed her lips. “As much as I’d enjoy being in your arms again, I can walk, Sameen.”

Shaw lifted an eyebrow, taking in the extent of Root’s body, she was thinner now than Shaw had seen her for a while. And while she was more alert now than when they’d fist found her, her eyes still looked glazed and the whole of her looked weak. Shaw didn’t want to chance anything. “Not fast enough, to get out of here, and not all the guards are dead yet.” Shaw retorted. “Get over here.” Without permission, she looped one arm around Root’s back and another under her knees, lifting the woman with ease. Root had been far from too heavy for Shaw to carry before, but Shaw could imeadiately tell the difference, Root groaned at the position change, as Shaw juggled her to regain her gun.

“Got one for me?” Root said, smiling as her head sunk to rest on Shaw’s shoulder.

Shaw rolled her eyes, “I’m not even going to explain how horrible of an idea that is right now. You’d probably end up shooting me.” Root gave a chuckle then winced. “Bear, verkenner.” Shaw commanded. The dog jumped from his position at her feet, heading out the door to scout ahead.

“Elevator’s still a no go.” Root’s voice crackled in her ear, at the same time actual Root said, “Fair enough, no guns.”

“Oh, we are definitely dealing with that later.” Shaw muttered, pushing passed the door. Gun drawn she maneuvered down the hall. Bear barked from just outside the stairwell doors, just as a round of shots rang out, hitting the opposite wall. “Shooter behind the stairwell door.” The machine confirmed.

The guard Shaw had kneecapped had finally regained his gun. He shot blindly in to the corridor, judging their location on the echoing footsteps he heard. Shaw shook her head, ducking around the desk that served as a nurses’ station while the building played hospital, where Bear had concealed himself. “Damn it, don’t you know the war is over?” She hollered to him. “You lost!” Another spray of bullets hits the far wall. Shaw counts, judging by the size of the gun she’d kicked away from him- not far enough apparently, she thought angrily- he’d only have a few shots left. However both enjoying antagonizing the man and wanting to make certain, they wouldn’t get shot, she called out again, “Why did they even hire you? You couldn’t hit me if you tried!”

Looking around the desk, she watched the man shuffle towards the open door. Another shot rang out, followed by the gun dry firing twice. The man let out a cry of frustration. Not caring about trying to spare his life this time- and regretting that she had the first time, Shaw fired again, hitting the man squarely between the eyes. His head jerked back and she raced for the stairs.

Bear surged out ahead, regaining the lead, while Shaw followed behind with her gun ready. She stepped carefully over the dead man, just another numbered face misguided into serving the wrong guy, just like she had been. Shaw was drawn out of her thoughts, Root groaned at the harsh fluorescent lights in above the stairs, tucking her face deeper into Shaw’s neck. The sun had set and they had come on brighter automatically. She probably did have a head injury, Shaw thought as she continued down the stair.

“Two more outside the main door.” The machine prompted.

Reaching the main floor, Bear signaled again, confirming The Machine’s report. Shaw ducked to the far wall, making sure to keep herself between whatever threat and Root. A quick glance through the window revealed two more guards, standing between them and the car. “Any better exits?” Shaw asked.

“Down the hallway to your left, emergency exit on the right. I’ll disable the alarm. They’ll still be between you and the car, but you can take them by surprise if you shoot from there.”

“Can do.” Shaw turned to the door next to her, pressing it open with her back. Sure enough, at the end of the empty hall, a red door stood. Bear stuck tight at Shaw’s heals, glance behind them every few seconds. Shaw reached the door, turning the handle slightly with her gun hand. When no alarm sounded, she threw the door open and stepped out.

It was completely dark around the side of the building, Shaw paused, waiting for further instructions. The Machine obliged, “If you stand behind that vent outlet, they won’t be able to see you, but you’ll have a perfect view of both.”

“Got it.” Shaw stepped forwards, coming to the edge of the vent and peering over her shoulder. Aiming slightly above the closest man’s ear, she fired. The shot rang out, and his partner turned, gun drawn towards the sound as the first man dropped. Two more shots fired, before the man had completed his turn, one in the shoulder, another to the diaphragm, dropping him.

“There are no others.” The Machine said. “No one touched the car, so you’re good to go.” Shaw gave a tight nod, and sensing the signal Bear sprinted to the car, sniffing around it for any tampering. She paused momentarily, tucking her gun away and carefully repositioning Root, who groaned again, before heading to the car.

Bear whined as she yanked the passenger’s side door open, and carefully setting Root inside. The taller woman looked to be teetering towards unconsciousness again. “Hey,” Shaw said leaning over her. “Stay with me. You can’t get a reading on her condition until she’s hooked up, can you?” It took Root’s fuzzy brain a moment to realize who Shaw was talking to. Shaw seemed to disagree with whatever The Machine said in response.

“You sure? I understand our identities are no longer at risk, but her injuries are suspicious to say the least.” Root looked expectantly at the other woman, wondering idly if this is how the rest felt when she had spoken with Her.

Shaw nodded, this time seeming to accept the answer in her ear. “Hospital, it is.” She said, wondering how on Earth The Machine planned to get them in. She reached across Root, buckling the seat belt at The Machine’s insistence. She opened the back door to dump the bag of supplies and let Bear in, before circling the car and climbing in herself.

“Are you talking to Her?” Root asked, looking over as Shaw started the car.

“Yep.”

Root smiled. But a thought crossed her mind: The war was over, but Shaw was alone. “Where are Harold and John?” Root asked. Shaw visibly tensed, her hands tightening on the steering wheel.

“Um…” Shaw sighed, listening to a voice in her ear telling her that now was not the best time to disclose the fates of the others to the gravely injured girl. “We can talk about that later. We… Why don’t you rest? It’s a couple hours back to the hospital She wants us at, you should sleep.”

Root furrowed her brow, but couldn’t deny how tired she felt. “Okay, Sameen.” She reached out one hand, resting it on Shaw’s thigh and resting her head back on the seat. Shaw patted her hand gently before returning to the wheel, as Root fell asleep again.

Shaw pulled back on to the highway in the direction of the city and ST. Mary’s hospital. She thought it was odd to bring Root back to the hospital she had “died” at, but knew better than to argue with the all-seeing God she worked for. Worked with, she supposed. “I’ll do it.” Shaw said quietly. “When she gets better, we’ll start numbers again.” 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY! Another chapter in one month! *I promise I'll be better at posting*  
> But for now: Another reunion!

Root slept through the most of the drive. When Shaw stopped to refuel and stash the medical supplies in the trunk, not wanting the black duffle bag in the back to draw attention at the hospital. Shaw roused her to change her into street clothes and redoing the bandages to would better perpetuate the cover story The Machine fed her. “I’ve already arrange identities for you both. You are playing a good Samaritan, Irina Dayton, and yes, I understand the unfortunate irony here. You found her like this and brought her here to the hospital after stopping the bleeding. She’s been unconscious and incoherent since you found her, with no wallet or ID. I’ll arrange for anything else, as it comes.”

“I just found her? It sounds like a mugging, police will be involved.” Shaw asked.

“I will have that taken care of. Stay with her the whole time.”

“I can do that. Hey, Root, you awake?” Shaw asked, glancing over at Root’s dark form. There was a muffled groan and the rustle of movement before an answer came. “My head hurts.”

Shaw chuckled. “That’s because you probably have a concussion. You think you can keep a story straight in that battered brain of yours?”

Root turned in her seat to stare at Shaw, her head lagging back on the seat, looking offended. “Sameen, I spent years under alternating aliases. One fake back story isn’t going to cloud my mind all that much, concussion or not. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Her yawn was stifled by a flinch as the stretch put strain on the wound.

“Still feeling out of it?” Shaw asked, feeling a pang of concern- only ever for Root- in her gut.

“A little. Still kinda numb, but when I keep my eyes open too long things start to swim.”

Shaw ground her teeth, it sounded exactly like concussion. The Machine better know what She’s doing, they are going to look suspicious as hell walking into that ER. “You were mugged. I found you in an alley.”

“A good Samaritan? How ironic!” Root said, crinkling up her nose. She had closed her eyes again sagging back fully against the seat.

“Yeah, She thought so too…” Shaw said, realizing for in an instant that Root didn’t know about The Machine’s recent personality changes. When she looked over, opening her mouth to make a quip about how similar they’d become, she noticed Root’s face had gone slack. Asleep again. “We’ll have to tell her later, you know.”

“I think she’ll find it interesting.” The Machine pipped up in her ear.

Shaw rolled her eyes, her finger tips moving of their own accord to the stop behind her ear. It was the first time she’d thought of it all evening. There was no scar. No simulation, she’d actually saved Root. And they were both alive.

**

Soon enough, Shaw pulled into the parking lot. Parking the car in one of the closest spots, she got out of the car, leaving a window open for Bear. She circled around to pull Root from the car, cradling the woman in her arms once more. “Help! I need help.” Shaw called, rushing into the ER department. Several nurses sprinted forwards to meet her, one pushing a wheel chair which Shaw lowered Root into.

“What happened?” One of the nurses asked urgently.

“I don’t know, I just found her like this.” Shaw said, trying her best to sound hysterical. “She was outside my apartment. I couldn’t just leave her there.”

The nurse nodded. Shaw followed closely behind her as they wheeled Root through the double doors. The administrator behind the desk stood to stop Shaw but the nurse shot her a look and they were allowed passed. Shaw followed closely behind. It required two nurses to switch Root from the chair to the bed, as she groaned in pain. Shaw was escorted out of the room by the head nurse as others tended and examined Root.

“You have to tell me everything you know, Miss…” The nurse paused looking for a name and pulling a note pad from the pocket of her scrub top.

“Oh, Dayton. But call me Irina.” Shaw said.

“Alright, Irina. Everything you saw or remember.”

Shaw began, speaking directly from The Machine, her words exactly the same and only a fraction of a second later. “I heard a noise outside my bedroom window. I thought it was just a raccoon or something, so I went out to scare it away. But as I got closer, I recognized it was a person. They sound different, you know.”

The nurse nodded, taking down notes and Shaw continued the story. When she had finished the statement, the nurse allowed Shaw back into the room. Root was already hooked up to machines and an IV drip. Shaw took a seat next to the bed, Root watched her through tired eyes. When it seemed Shaw was settle, Root reached out from between the bars of the bed rail.

Shaw looked at her outstretched hand, IV attached to the back of it, and raised an eyebrow. Root gave a short shake of her head, spreading her fingers wider. A silent conversation flashed through the air as the two women stared at each other. A full minute passed before Shaw caved, sighing, and reached out to take Root’s hand.

“You’re lucky you’re sick.” Shaw huffed, having to move her chair closer to rest their joined hands comfortably on the edge of the bed.

Root smiled, finally shutting her eyes and resting her head turned in Shaw’s direction. “I know, sweetie.”

**

When Lionel returned to the station the next day, there was a note scrawled on a sticky note and stuck to the computer monitor on his desk: _Young woman alive at St. M’s. Shot and beaten. File the report._ He let out an audible sigh, look at the man at the desk next to his, a new face in the precinct. After the numerous police deaths, thanks to Samaritan and the digital apocalypse, almost all the faces in the bull pen were new. “Hey,” He said, striding over. “I think they left this on the wrong desk. Here ya go.”

“I don’t think so,” The young man said. “The captain checked the name plate before she stuck it to your computer.”

“Well, she made a mistake. I work homicide.” Fusco huffed, turning on his heal in the direction of the captain’s office. He knocked and turned the knob at the same time. “I think you gave this to the wrong person, boss. I work homicide and unless she died since you wrote this, it’s not my case.”

Captain Moreno raised an eyebrow. “Good morning, Detective Fusco. I see you got my note. It is, in fact, your case. I recommend that you take a few easy cases now that you’ve return from you’re leave. This is the second partner you’ve lost in the last 5 years, Fusco. Take it easy.”

“Regardless, of my partner situation, I am a homicide detective. De-Tec-Tive” He enunciated. “I don’t work domestic abuse, or mugging or whatever this is.” Fusco said.

“Not today. Today, you are going to help this woman create a report. End of discussion.” Moreno said sternly.

Fusco let out a huff, but turned to leave. He retrieved his gun and badge from his desk before heading for his car. When he reached the hospital, he went in through the Emergency Room entrance. He flashed his badge at the desk. “I’m Detective Fusco, NYPD. I’m here to interview the Jane Doe that came in last night.” He said in an obviously bored voice.

The nurse gave him a cursory look before standing. She pressed a button to unlock the staff door and gestured him through. “Right this way, Detective.” She led Fusco down a corridor to a room with an ajar wooden door. “In here, let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” Fusco replied, stepping up in the space to knock before entering. His hand froze millimeters from contact with the door. All he can see from this vantage is the back of a small woman dressed all in black, dark hair pulled into a messy low ponytail, hunched over the bed railing. The familiarity of the image makes him take a step forward, drawn by curiosity to see the patient.

Her feet extend all the way to the end of the bed, thin legs are covered by a standard issue hospital blanket. Hair a lighter shade of brown was spread out at what he can see of the top of bed, but the hunched woman blocks his view of her face. Neither move as he takes another step into the room, either asleep or assuming he’s just another doctor. His breath catches as her face comes into view.

Root’s position mirrors the last time he saw her. She stretched out on the bed, her face slack and eyes closed. She was battered and bruise, but not nearly as pale as the last time he saw her. And most definitely breathing. She was dead, his mind repeated. He saw her dead, and had to pretend not to know her, so that she could be buried in peace. She was dead.

“No way.” The words spilled out of his mouth, causing the other woman to turn and reveal another familiar face. “No frickin’ way.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO Sorry it's taken so long to update. Really, really sorry!  
> It's been a rough month for me health- and mental-healthwise, I needed some good new to get me interested enough to keep writing anything, and I just got some, so here it is!  
> Again really sorry about the wait, I'll try to be better.

“Hey,” Shaw said quietly, turning in her seat to face him. One of her hands lagged behind and as he stepped closer, he noticed her fingers were linked with Root’s. “She’s asleep. Shut up.” She glared at him with the type of quiet annoyance he was used to.

Fusco simply stood there staring between the small woman glaring at him and the unconscious one of the bed. “She’s dead! I saw it, went to the funeral. How is she not in the ground?” Fusco ranted in a hushed tone, stepping back to close the door. The machines on the wall beeped regularly, showing that she clearly wasn’t dead. Imagines of her, laying stiff on a metal slab with paper white skin, flashed in his mind. Now her skin was definitely alive, and covered in bruises. “What the Hell happened to her?” A pang of concern ran through him, and he took a step towards the bed.

Shaw opened her mouth to respond, but couldn’t honestly answer. Root had been too out of it to explain the missing weeks and The Machine, although trying, still hadn’t pieced everything back together yet either. The only people who really knew where dead. Shaw didn’t really care to know the answer, truthfully, with the evidence she had- Root’s body and her own memories- knowing the truth as she guessed it was would only make her angrier at something that no longer existed. “I don’t know.” She said after a moment. “Somehow Samaritan got a hold of her after you saw her and brought her back from the dead, I guess. Or faked her death, like Finch did with me. Something happened, we all thought she was dead and we were wrong. It happens.” Her mind, more distracted than usual jumped back to the recording of John and Finch that The Machine had played.

Fusco remembered the various things he’d just learned of. Root wasn’t the only one to come back to life recently. He nodded at the ridiculous explanation, which in the last months had somehow become plausible. “Too often,” He says quietly, thinking the same thing she is. He’d seen Shaw get shot that night, thought she was a goner, and he’d been wrong. With these people, it _did_ happen. “So why do you have her now? That funky robot of yours is back online, isn’t she?”

“The Machine is not a robot.” Shaw said on reflex. Fuso raises his eyebrow, and she narrows her eyes at him. “I wasn’t gonna leave her there, don’t be an idiot. We literally just ended a war with them. They have tried to kill us for over a year now. Look what they did to her, I wasn’t leaving her there. I’m all she’s got, Finch is nowhere, John is…” She stopped and looked back to the stirring figure on the bed as Root tugged on their connected hands, slowly waking up.

“Who’s that?” Root asked in a groggy voice, not bothering to open her eyes.

“It’s the cop that’s here to do our report.” Shaw said. “He’s a bit confused to see you breathing. Well, maybe a lot confused.”

Root cracked an eye to see the squat man standing dumbstruck at the end of the bed, and smiled. “Hey Fusco, long time, no see.”

“Yeah. Hi to you, Coco Puffs. Good to see you not dead, but you look like hell.” He said, taking the opportunity to look her over. There were bruises and scabs on her face, a split lip and definite swelling around one eye.

“Really? That’s about how I feel, too.” Root said, letting her eyes fall back closed as she rested back against the bed. Her hand remained latched to Shaw’s as she leaned back, keeping Shaw at her side.

“You know,” Fusco said. “I thought you lot were crazy before, now I don’t know. You’ve got robot overlords only you hear, and pop up outta nowhere. Mess with my investigations. You people are freaky.” He reached into his pocket to pull out his notepad and pen, to take notes for the report.

 “Machine’s not a robot.” Root said quietly from behind her. “And she obviously likes you, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.” Fusco raised his eyebrows again at Shaw, nodding to the woman on the bed. Shaw glared at him.

“Whatever. Can we get this report done, so I can get back to my job? Not that I’m not enjoying our little family reunion, but I’m not allowed to get back to homicide until I finish up here.” Fusco flipped a few pages into the notebook, and wrote the date at the top of a blank page. “Name?”

“Um…” Root opened her eyes and looked at Shaw, who’s own became un focused for a minute, as The Machine spouted information into her ear.

“Laura Page, 36. She doesn’t remember that cus of the head injury, but that’s what’ll show up when you run her prints.” Shaw said after a moment.

Fusco paused and peered up at her, blinking a few times before sighing and writing it down. “You’re the go-through now?”

“She’s the new interface. They took my implant, so I can’t hear Her anymore.” Root said, sounding sad.

“Just until they replace it,” Shaw followed with quickly. “Then it’s Root’s job again.”

Fusco shakes his head. “No name means no history, but I assume I’ll get that with the prints too.”

“Uh, except for a hearing disability. Malformation of the stapes in the left ear, resulting in surgical removal and a cochlear implant, which was damaged in the mugging.” Shaw spouted as the information was fed into her ear. “Which surgeons here will be fixing, once the concussion is resolved.”

“Other injuries?” Fusco asked, scribbling notes down, and realizing it was easier not to ask questions.

“Facial bruises and lacerations. Three broken ribs on the left side, gunshot wound on the same side, through and through. Concussion- fracture of the right eye socket. Minimal brain swelling, but retrograde amnesia.” Shaw finished, looking Root over again, her own medical mind trying to search for something they might have missed.

“I love it when you play doctor.” Root chuckled, when Shaw finishes. It lightened the mood of the room, and made the situation awkward in a way that only Root seemed capable. And Fusco let out a loud huff.

Shaw’s face changed into a smirk at his reaction. He couldn’t help but shake his head. He really needed new friends. “You two are awful, you know that, right?”

“She’s worse than I am.” Shaw said, feeling something in her chest stir. She could quite place it, but it was warm, a feeling she only ever got with Root. Fusco smiled when he saw it on her face, an awed smile that reached her eyes. It was clear affection, reminding him of the night they’d spoken about her parents, a rare moment where Shaw’s expression showed she cared. He wished Root’s eyes were open to see it, but he knew them too well to point it out.

“And how do you fit into all this?” He asked, getting back to the paper in his hand.

“I found her in an alley, and brought her here.” Shaw says, refocusing on Fusco.

“The good… Samaritan, really?” He said, sarcasm lacing his voice. He was still knew to this whole ASI crap, but he’d remember the name of their foe.

“Yeah, She thought it’s be ironic.” Shaw said again, still not finding it as entertaining as Root and The Machine seemed to, a trait they had in common. “Irina Dayton, 35.”

“Statements?” Fusco asked.

“Already in your inbox.” Shaw smirked.

This was getting to be a lot like when John and Finch had started using him. “Of course they are. You guys are gonna be the new Glasses and John, aren’t ya? I’ll have you two busting my hump from behind a screen?” he asked, secretly hoping they’d say yes. As much as these two freaked him out, the past few weeks had been boring and he missed the secret job he’d held for years. And in all truth, it’d make him feel better to have someone.

Shaw’s face returned to its neutral blank slate and she gave a brief shake her head in warning. “Why would we be the new…?” Root asked, confused. She sat up in the bed, and opened both eyes wide. Fusco realized his mistake, Root didn’t know yet.

Shaw turned to her, weighing her options in her mind. Even The Machine stayed silent for a moment. “It may be better to just tell her,” She said.

“They’re dead, aren’t they?” Root asked quietly.

Shaw stood there silent, her face stoic under Root’s pleading gaze, unsure of how to answer. She knew Root needed a kind answer, but she didn’t know how to form one. Fusco spoke up, seeing Shaw’s hesitation. “Finch just sorta left after it was over. They took John out after he killed the last of Samaritan. He’s buried as a war hero, under his real name. It was a really nice service.” He said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: Anyone know if you can schedule chapters to be published at a later date, so you don't have to do it manually? I'm shooting for a more regular release schedule that I don't have to think about... Please comment or message me if you know!  
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
